Sleight of Hand
by corneroffandom
Summary: Wade Barrett is the new World Heavyweight Champion. He's on top of the world, the last thing from his mind is how exactly Sheamus will respond and who will get caught in the crossfire.


Life is comprised of a bunch of small moments that all fit together to make some really huge milestones. After all, it had been a mere moment, Wade Barrett reflects back grimly, when he'd been standing outside of the ring, a flying Dolph Ziggler heading right his and R-Truth's way. It had been a split second when his arm had snapped and he knew something was wrong, wrong, _wrong._ Another (surgery not going the way they'd hoped) and another (rehab finally starting and his ridiculous relief at finally being out of that hinge cast) and another (finally hearing an end date for when he could be cleared to wrestle) and another (setting his sights on Sheamus the instant he _knows)._

All of these little moments, fixing together into the tapestry known as life. Building towards _this,_ here, now. Him, staring down at a beaten Sheamus, the freshly won world title fitting perfectly in his hands. He sighs, closing his eyes, just reveling in the moment. He doesn't notice the look on the Irishman's face as he leaves the ring or the somewhat deranged intent lurking there.

Twenty minutes later, he's dressed and ready to go out and celebrate his long anticipated victory when a familiar voice breaks into his thoughts: "Wa-Wade, wait up."

He grimaces, not bothering to turn around. "What is it, Slater?" _Of course, back five minutes and he's already after me to hang out._ Shaking his head, he frowns at the lack of response and does glance over his shoulder then. "What are you wasting my time for, yo-" His words die away when he realizes that Slater isn't alone, Sheamus' ridiculously pale forearm wrapped snuggly around his throat, choking the younger man out from behind.

Smirking, Sheamus shakes Heath a bit, apparantly getting a sick sort of pleasure as his head lulls helplessly. "I want my title back," he snaps, his dark green eyes flashing madly. "Now!"

"It's not your title anymore," Wade refutes, turning slowly. He keeps a close eye on Heath's reddening face, taking in how his former Corre cohort is struggling to get an inch of oxygen, his fingers scrambling against Sheamus', already too weak to break the hold. "Let him go, he has nothing to do with this."

"He has plenty to do with it," Sheamus huffs with a quick roll of his eyes. "I know you well enough, Barrett, to know that, short of killin' ya, nothing I do will keep you from goin' after me world heavyweight title." Undeterred by Wade's scoffing at his stubborn claims towards the belt currently draped over his shoulder, Sheamus pulls Heath up so he's hanging slack, a few inches off of the ground.

"Stop it," he snarls, voice low and dangerous as Heath's eyes finally roll into the back of his head, his whole form going completely limp.

A truly sick, satisfied look crosses Sheamus' face as he lowers the other man till his feet are back on the ground, still not letting go of him. "Well, see, fella, that isn't fun. While we're all here, we might as well, huh? Way I see it easiest way to get you to back down is to go after your friends. For whatever reason, this one here still counts, doesn't he?"

Barrett pauses, dark eyes burrowing a hole through the pale superstar. "Ha, please, the shock of me giving you what you want to save him would kill Slater quicker than anything you could do to him."

"Hmm," Sheamus hums, pulling a still limp Heath back a few steps, loosening his grip till one arm is wrapped around Heath's throat enough to restrain him should he regain consciousness. "Ya think so, fella? Well, let's see... anything I could do to him... I do enjoy a challenge now and again." He smirks at the slightly disturbed look on Wade's face, reaching behind him towards the catering table. Time starts inching by as the tall man shatters a blue water bottle against the table, immediately pressing the remaining, jagged bit in his hands against Heath's side. "Either you give me my title or this one here's gonna get a couple scars for his trouble. Wouldn't want that, now, would we? I know you know how it feels." His crazed eyes look towards Wade's shoulder, where the scar from a long-ago stab wound gained during his days as a bareknuckle fighter resides.

Wade glares at him, his lips pressed tightly together. "You have a rematch clause, what more do you want? You've already lost fair and square once tonight. Hurting him will only make things worse for you."

Sheamus laughs, burying his face in Heath's long hair. "Hear that, Slater? He thinks doing this..." He grins, sinking the sharp glass into Heath's skin, causing him to jerk and cry out, regaining consciousness at the worst possible moment. "...will make things worse for me. Could it truly _get_ any worse?"

Blood is already trickling down Heath's side, pooling along the edge of his blue wrestling pants, and Wade leans forward slightly, worried by how the younger man's gaze keeps moving around, his breathing rough and a little congested sounding. "Wh- why are you doin' this?" he groans out, eyes closing as the shard is pressed harder against his ribs, the blood flowing faster from the wound.

Sheamus rolls his eyes, staring at Wade from over Heath's head. "Why, oh why, oh why," he says mockingly, dragging Heath back slightly while not moving the blood-slicked weapon an inch. "It's a simple enough answer, I suppose. Do you even know how hard I worked to gain that title in the first place?"

Heath's energy seems to be coming and going, the blood still trailing down his side sluggishly. "Ye-yeah," he whispers, not sure and not really caring if Sheamus is addressing him or Wade. "'Course..." They'd all seen the road Sheamus had taken to get back to main event level, the struggle to prove himself once more.

"All of that work," he says, sounding not just a little bitter. "All that dedication!" He shakes Heath, sending the broken bottle even further into his side as a fresh wave of blood streams down his hand, the shorter man releasing a strangled, pain-filled groan. Wade takes a short step forward at this, his eyes flashing dangerously, but Sheamus shakes his head. "Don't try it," he warns. "Or this little cut here will be the least of Slater's problems."

"Please," he pants, his southern accent thick, the words all but indistinguishable as he falls into broken mumbles, his skin dotted with cold sweat. "Please..."

Wade itches to punch Sheamus, something, anything, but the large Irishman is far from done. "All that work," he repeats, eyes almost glazed over as he drags Heath back a few steps, seeming to get a kind of sick pleasure from the agonized whimper this draws out of the injured man. "And suddenly I'm the most hated man in the WWE because I did what any man would do and Brogue kicked his arse and won in 18 seconds on the grandest stage of 'em all! But you two wouldn't know what it's like havin' the fans suddenly turn on you on a dime, now wouldcha?" He shifts the glass a bit, grinning angrily as a cry of pain comes from Heath.

Wade bites his lips against the sarcastic response dwelling on his tongue, knowing that it wouldn't help matters any. His match with Sheamus had been nearly eighteen _minutes_, because he hadn't wanted a cheap, fluke victory to be the reason behind his title victory. He'd fought well, won clean, and here they are. He wonders if this was the true reason behind Sheamus' mental break, that months of thinking about what that impulsive decision to kick Bryan while he was unprepared had cost him, not so much the title loss tonight, but everything finally catching up with him all at once. "Slater has nothing to do with this," he says again, trying to inch forward slightly. "Let him go and you'll get your rematch whenever you want it."

"Stay back!" Sheamus barks at him, digging the glass into Heath's side viciously as it too grows slick with bright red blood. "There is no need for a rematch, you thieving bastard! Just give me what's rightfully mine and _then_ I'll let Slater go."

"It's not yours," Heath mumbles, his eyes fluttering as he lingers on the edge of unconsciousness once more. "Don't do it, Wade."

_"What _did you say?" Sheamus barks, grabbing Heath by the jaw with the hand that had just been loosely wrapped around his throat, wrenching his face over so they're eye to eye. "_Repeat_ that." Heath only blinks once before the pain just becomes too much for him and he goes limp once more, Wade's heart sinking as he does. "Worthless, worthless, worthless," he rumbles, roughly pulling the glass out from Heath's side, the amount of blood that splatters across the floor leaving Wade speechless and ill. "You want him so bad, you can have him," he snarls, finally pushing the unconscious young man towards the new World Champion. "I'll be back for my belt soon enough."

While Sheamus walks off as if nothing had happened, as if the blood staining his pale skin wasn't even there, Wade lunges forward when Heath freefalls towards the ground, reaching him just in time to support him before he could crash against the linoleum. "Slater, what the hell were you thinking, antagonizing him like that?" he demands, his voice tight and a little shaky, though later he would never admit it. Worried when he remains unconscious, Wade grimaces and awkwardly shifts him so he's leaning against Wade's chest at an angle where he can see the wound. "Damn," he winces, taking in the jagged slice that runs from the top of his pants midway up his rib cage.

He's in the process of leaning over, reaching for a pile of white towels on the nearby catering table, when Heath comes to again with a pained, muffled gasp against Wade's forearm. "No no," he groans, gripping tightly to Wade's armband that he hadn't gotten around to removing before Sheamus had accosted him.

"Sorry, Heath, I have to, you're losing too much blood," he grumbles, trying once more to grab the towels without adding to his pain. Finally he gets a grip on them, tipping them over just enough that he can reach the top few which he immediately presses to Heath's side, breathing heavily as the younger man cries out and tries to get away from the pain. "Stop it," he grits out, holding him in place. "I'm just trying to help you." When Heath quiets, he shakes him. "Don't pass out again, Slater. We're going to the ER but I'm going to need your help getting there, huh?"

"ER?" Heath's eyes flutter slowly, his voice faint. "You sick or somethin'?"

Wade shakes his head, pressing his hand to the back of Heath's neck. "No. I'm not the one who needs the ER. Come on, up you get," he grunts, pulling the younger man to his feet before readjusting the towels against his side, frowning at the blood already seeping through the once pristine fabric. Thankfully it's only a few steps to the main hallway, where the exit door to the parking garage is waiting, but Heath's energy fades quickly, Wade having to take on more and more of his weight with every few steps. By the time they're halfway to the door, the One Man Rock Band's become near dead weight against Wade's side.

With a thunderous frown, vowing yet again to make Sheamus pay, Barrett leans over and lifts Heath up, ignoring anyone who might be watching nearby as he carries the younger man out, huffing out a worried breath when his head lulls against Wade's shoulder, his bright hair covering his face. "You'll be fine," he bites out, adjusting his hold slightly as he walks purposely to the rental car that he'd arrived in.

After considering stretching Heath out in the back so he'd hopefully be more comfortable, he realizes that that's not going to work because he'd be too distracted looking back to check on him every five seconds to keep an eye on the road. _The last thing either of us needs is to end up in a car accident, _he thinks, settling Heath's limp form in the passenger seat, pressing the towels back in place to staunch the bleeding still coming slowly from the wound before tightening the seat belt around him. "Hopefully that'll hold," he mumbles, quickly moving for the driver's seat. He pauses for only a moment before driving off, brushing some of the hair out of Slater's face so he can see him easier. "Hang in there, Slater. We'll be there soon."

The ER staff thankfully forgoes all waiting time, taking one look at the blood dripping down Heath's side and staining Wade's hands and chest, before directing them to a room where a group of people begin work immediately, one nurse ushering Wade out of the room despite his repeated protests. "Sir, we need to know what happened," she explains softly, leading him back out to the nurse's desk. "Sandra," she tells the girl there, "get him some scrubs, ok?"

Wade barely registers her words, his eyes locked on the room Heath's held up in. _I completely forgot I'm still only in my wrestling gear, _he thinks, far from ashamed that pulling some clothes on was the last thing from his mind when Slater was bleeding profusely next to him.

"Sir, while we wait on that," the nurse who'd ushered him out tries again. "Tell me what happened, please."

He hesitates, almost tempted to claim a mugging, so he can exact his own revenge on Sheamus once he knows Heath will be ok, but remembers the maddened look in the Irishman's eyes. The pure fear in Heath's. He sighs tiredly, his shoulders slumping as he gives in and tells the whole story to the nurse. Halfway through the tale, the other nurse returns with the scrubs and holds them, lips parting in shock as he continues talking.

When he finishes, the nurse looks unsettled and, visibly distracted, leads him to the staff bathroom. "Clean up here," she tells him. "I'll check on your friend while you're in here and try to have an update for you when you come out."

He blinks at her, nodding slightly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She ducks back out, leaving him staring blankly at the door for a few moments as he tries to make sense of the last hour. "What do I do," he mutters, closing his eyes and smacking the back of his head against the wall. "You better pull through, Slater, or I swear..." Unsure how he means to finish this thought, he sinks to the floor and sits for awhile, the scrubs held tightly in one hand as he wraps the other around his knees. He's not even sure where the title belt's ended up at, possibly somewhere at the arena or in his car, but he's glad it's not nearby. To think such an innocuous object- no matter how desperately contested for- could lead to something as ridiculous as _this..._ send Sheamus spiraling even further than he had ever been in the past, even back when he was considered deranged and out of control... it boggles Wade's mind.

Finally he sighs and pulls himself upright once more, working through the haze in his mind to painstakingly wipe off the blood staining his arms, chest and hands before pulling the scrubs on over his wrestling gear, realizing that if he takes too long the nurse will come back and prod him into getting examined himself- and where would either of them be if he gets sedated? As soon as he considers himself presentable- or as presentable as one can be in bright blue scrubs- he leaves the room, jerking back in surprise upon finding the nurse waiting for him right outside the door.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says softly, wide eyed. "I didn't mean to startle you. I have some news on your friend."

He takes a deep breath, blowing it out his nose, before staring down at her. "And? How is he?"

To her credit, she barely blinks as the menacing Brit approaches her like that. "There was no internal damage, thankfully, and they're stitching him up now. He'll have to stay overnight because they have to run a transfusion to replace some of the blood he'd lost, and they want to keep an eye on him for awhile, but he should be released by morning... He's very lucky." She smiles slightly at him as he visibly relaxes. "I can take you to see him. Visiting hours are over, but as long as you don't disrupt the other patients, you can stay for a bit."

He sneers slightly before catching sight of some drying, flaky blood he'd missed under his fingernails, his skin growing a couple shades lighter. "Yes, thank you," he finally mutters, quietly following her through the hallways. She nods at him, motioning to a room labeled ER 7, before turning back to the nurse's desk. As he enters alone, he's surprised to find a doctor and a couple of nurses still in with Heath, looking at the gash along his side and double checking the monitors and IVs hooked to him. What he sees of the wound before they bandage it is red and a little swollen around the dark black thread holding it together. "Hey," he mumbles when a nurse glances his way, not bothering him when he moves to the other side of the bed.

"He's been going in and out of consciousness," the other nurse whispers to him on her way to the door, snapping her blood stained gloves off as she goes. He tries not to look, picking anxiously at his fingernails. "Don't stay for too long. We'll be moving him to a more permanent room shortly."

Wade nods grimly and waits until they're alone before pulling a chair up to the side of the bed and frowning at Heath. "Well," he sighs. "Sounds like you're going to pull through." His eyes lock on the bright red bag of blood draining into Heath's arm through an IV, his jaw twitching as he swallows thickly, growing more annoyed with the relentless brown flakes still under his nails and staining his fingertips. "Dammit." He leans forward, tangling his fingers in his hair while trying not to focus too much on the different beeps and sounds the machinery connected to Heath keeps making.

He hasn't moved when, a few minutes later, something brushes against his forehead, dislodging his fingers from his hair. "H-hey," Heath's southern accent breaks into Wade's thoughts, causing him to jerk up into a sitting position. "Y'alright?"

They stare at each other a few moments before Wade shakes his head. "You idiot," he says. "Why are you asking how _I_ am? You're the one in the hospital bed, hooked up to all this." He motions to the different things scattered around them and Heath tries to follow him, his eyes almost crossing as he fails at focusing. "Never mind," the new world champion groans, realizing that now's not the time to try to lecture Heath about his current health.

Heath shrugs, leaning back against his pillow to relax, when he realizes something. "Sheamus," he mumbles while struggling to keep his eyes open. "Did-... what... how did I get here?"

Wade stares at him grimly. "He stabbed you. Badly." When Heath's eyes slip open once more, the younger man looking fearful, he rests a hand on his arm, squeezing. "I tried talking him down, but he wasn't listening... and you weren't a lot of help either," he adds sternly, sighing when Heath barely seems to register his words. "He finally let you go and I brought you here." He's not sure if he should go into Heath's condition while he's barely clinging to consciousness but the words pour from his lips before he can really stop them. "You've been stitched up and they're now giving you a transfusion, so they're going to keep you overnight but all goes well, you'll be out of here by morning."

Heath's about to say something when a nurse comes in, a couple of orderlies following her to assist with moving the bed. "Mr. Slater, we're going to move you to a more permanent room now," she explains, smiling slightly at Wade. "You'll have to go now, sir. Visiting hours-"

"Wait, wait," Heath interrupts her, eyes slipping closed once more. "Can... can he stay? Just... a little while longer? Please?" Despite his usually abrasive, cocky nature, the instant that he's sick or hurt, no one can sound as young or miserable as Heath, the accent only furthering things along. So it doesn't surprise Wade in the slightest when the nurse reluctantly caves, nodding briskly. "Thank you," he whispers, causing her to soften even more.

It's just as well, Barrett figures. He's near dead on his feet anyway and thinks if anyone told him to really leave right now, he'd just lay down and fall asleep right there, hospital policies be damned. He has no real intentions of going anywhere, it's already after midnight and visiting hours are soon enough. It's not as though he'll be making that much noise, the main possible cause of his raised voice already wavering close to sleep on the bed that they're currently pushing down the hall. To his relief, they end up in a private room with a nice view overlooking a nearby park with a small pond that's glinting in the moonlight. He stares down at it while the nurses and orderlies settle Heath into his bed, the man waking up in the middle of it all and murmuring in confusion until Wade rejoins them, his presense somehow comforting his former Corre teammate and easing him back to sleep.

The nurse gives him a quick glance before turning to leave once she's checked his vitals and is sure Heath is sleeping comfortably. Wade sighs, dropping down in a large chair in the corner of the room that almost overwhelms even his form. "Never a quiet moment with you, is there?" he asks tiredly, letting his head rest against the edge of the chair. He's asleep within minutes.

He comes to with a slight gasp as a nurse brushes past him, startling her. "Oh, I'm sorry," she whispers, quickly adjusting the drapes on the window next to him. "I didn't mean to wake you. I was trying to keep the sun from disturbing either of you. So much for that." She takes a quick look at Heath before turning her attention to the machines surrounding him. "He's doing well," she tells the Brit before quietly leaving.

He rubs the matter out of his eyes before leaning forward to look at Heath. He _is_ looking better, a little less pale and not seeming quite as fragile. He releases a deep breath before stretching out to rest his legs on the bed, crossing them at the ankle. _Bit surprised the nurses let me stay all night..._ He shrugs and watches as Heath breathes softly, his forehead crinkled in pain even while fast asleep. He remembers the pain following being stabbed quite well, his arm still bearing the marks from his own experiences as a bareknuckle fighter in England. Considering how close it had come to causing serious injury, like internal damage, makes Wade ill as he examines the gauze visible along Heath's chest above where the sheets end. _All in all, it could've been much worse..._

"What- what're you staring at?" a dry, faint voice breaks into his thought and he jerks, surprised to find Heath awake and staring at him with glazed over eyes.

"Hey," he whispers simply, putting his feet back down on the ground so he can stand up. "How do you feel?"

Heath shakes his head, his bright hair going this way and that against the pillow. "Kinda... numb... but, like, everything hurts too? I'm not sure how to explain it." He takes a deep breath, resting his head back for a minute before looking up at Wade. "Did you stay here all night?"

"Seems so." Wade huffs slightly, leaning against the side of the bed. "I fell asleep in that chair, horrid uncomfortable thing that it is. Be glad you had the bed. Though if you're feeling so numb, maybe I should've stuck you over there."

Heath rolls his eyes, immediately freezing when he catches sight of the bright right gauze against his tanned side. "Oh hell," he breathes, finally realizing just how bad the injury was as he lifts the sheet up with trembling hands, revealing the full expanse of bandages covering the stitches up and down his side. "What'd I ever do to piss Sheamus off?"

Wade is tempted to make some joke about the ginger-on-ginger crime but ultimately the words fail on his tongue. Instead he shakes his head quietly and leans forward. "You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, Slater. This was all about getting back at me, unfortunately you just happened to be the one he came across first."

"'N' he knows we're kinda friends, so..."

"Yes. I personally think he's snapped, and my winning the belt from him was the last straw. I'll be going to Laurinaitis soon, hopefully he doesn't continue being worthless and will actually _do_ something about all of this nonsense."

"I'm not gonna hold my breath," the younger man mumbles, his eyes already fluttering shut.

"Am I boring you that much?" he asks, sounding more amused than indignant. "Rest, Heath. I'll go to the board themselves if I have to. Sheamus will be dealt with."

"Sounds good," he sighs out, shifting carefully to get comfortable. "Hey, Wade?"

"Yeah?" the new champion asks, pausing as he moves back over to the unfortunate chair to wait for the breakfast tray and an opportunity to raid it while Heath sleeps.

"Thanks for bein' here, and everything."

He blinks, lips twitching up a little as he watches Heath's body melt into rest once more. "You're welcome." _Fine,_ he decides, _maybe I won't raid _all_ of the good stuff from the breakfast tray..._


End file.
